


Bad Blood

by CanaryWidow



Category: Degrassi the Next Generation
Genre: Brotp, Friendship, Gen, I'm so bitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:18:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanaryWidow/pseuds/CanaryWidow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In where the fandom needs more Grace/Tristan/Zig friendship in the sea of Degrassi crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I took a mini hiatus from Degrassi after my ship was nearly destroyed during Champagne Supernova. But now, I'm back with vengeance (due to listening to Bad Blood on repeat for about three days straight). Enjoy.

_'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood_

_You know it used to be mad love_

_So take a look what you've done_

_'Cause, baby, now we got bad blood_

_Hey_

_Now we got problems_

_And I don't think we can solve them_

_You made a really deep cut_

_And, baby, now we got bad blood_

_Hey_

_\--_

            Grace opened her front door to find a red-eyed Tristan Milligan on her porch (she remembered the holes in her face conversation they had last year). “Tristan, what the hell?”

            He pushed past her (uncharacteristically) rudely. His coat and shoes tracked a little mud and rain onto her wooden floors, and she wrinkled her nose. “Geez, Milligan! Let me get you a towel,” she grumbled, heading off to the color-coordinated closet her mother insisted on. She snagged a blue one and headed back to her foyer where he stood, eyes downward cast. She tossed the towel into his face. “Here.”  She watched as he examined the towel, and tears came to his face. But as quickly as they came, they disappeared, and Tristan wiped down his face and that hideous peroxide hairstyle with the towel.

            “Thanks,” he mumbled, walking back to her front door to toe off his boots (that Grace secretly thought looked cool) and hang up his coat. When he reentered the foyer, he took a tentative seat on her couch, looking everywhere but at Grace.

            “You want to tell me what’s wrong with you?” she asked, still standing by the hallway entrance. Silence. “Okay, next question. How do you know where the hell I live?” Silence. She sighed, stepping closer. “Does it have to do with Money Bags?” A sniffle. “Why did you come here?”

            “…I can’t…anyone else…” he sighed, frustrated. “Everyone else in my life is…biased.”

            She raised an eyebrow. “First of all, I’m not in your life. Secondly, I guess I’m not biased. But what am I not biased against?”

            “Miles and Maya,” his voice cracked. “All of this time…he was still in love with her even though he said he wasn’t. And I believed him like a fool.” His knuckles turned white as his grip on the towel tightened. “God, I’m an idiot.”

            “No, you made a mistake,” Grace corrected. “Everyone makes mistake…like the one you made when you thought that peroxide blond hairstyle was cute.”

            He scoffed, but it sounded like an improvement to Grace’s ears. “I’ve been thinking about changing it. Back to my original color.”

            “You know, I don’t even think I’ve seen your original color,” Grace remarked, plopping down into a chair to Tristan’s left.

            “I don’t think I’ve seen yours either,” he teased, and a sliver of the real Tristan that Grace kind of, sort knew peeked through.

            She smirked. “Touché. But seriously, what is it?”

            He sighed. “You must not have been here two years ago; it was a mousy brown. But I want it to be darker.”

            “Like black?” she questioned, cataloguing the hair dye that she had stored upstairs in her bedroom.

            He shook his head. “Yes, but I don’t want to force that color right away. I want to start with a dark brown and gradually work my way up to black.”

            She jumped to her feet. “Well, let’s do it.” He looked at her with a confused expression on his face. She rolled her eyes and used her head to gesture to the stairs. “I have dye.”

            He eyed her split ends. “No thanks.”

            “My sister is a certified hair stylist, and she showed me what to do. Come on, live a little,” she urged.

            An internal battle waged in his head. “Fine,” he conceded, standing up and following Grace to her bathroom. “If you mess up, I’m suing you.”

            She scoffed. “You’re the one who came to my house. I think that means I can sue you.”

\--

            Tristan examined his darker locks in the mirror.

            “You know, they say vanity can lead to death,” Grace teased, throwing the stained towels in the hamper to be washed. “What do you think?”

            He lunged forward for a hug, and she sidestepped him. “Whoa, use your words, Milligan!” she crossed her arms and glared sternly.

            “I love it. Thank you, Grace,” he said with an amount of sincere that nearly brought a smile to Grace’s lips.

            Grace waved her hand. “There goes my good deed for the month. Now, do yours and tell me how you know where my house is.”

            He stood up and smiled. “My brother used to date your sister, and I saw your address in his black book of conquests.” He shuddered.

            “That…shockingly makes sense,” she said, turning the bathroom light off. “Hey, your hair doesn’t shine in the dark anymore!”

            “Enough hair jokes,” he mumbled as he followed her down the stairs. He glanced at the clock that hung on Grace’s wall. “Well, I guess I’ve intruded too long.” He gestured to the door. “I’ll get going. Thanks, Grace.” He started to put his boots on.

            “Stop.” He glanced up, surprised. “Where did you get your boots?” she asked, clearing her throat as she crossed her arms, trying to look nonchalant.

            “Some shop downtown,” he answered.

            She raised an eyebrow. “Freaky’s?”

            “Yeah,” he answered, smiling for the second time this afternoon (which was a major improvement from the sullen Tristan that arrived on her doorstep hours before).

            This boy was a load of surprises. “You don’t seem like the kind of person that would shop at Freaky’s,” she noted.

            “I’m not as one dimensional as you think I am,” he argued. “I’m way more than a stereotypical gay boy.”

            “Never said that you were one dimensional,” she replied breezily. A thought crossed her mind. “Hey, it’s a Friday night, and they have that 50% off sale. Want to go?”

            He glanced at the dark clouds that gathered outside. “You want to walk to Freaky’s in this weather?” he asked.

            She rolled her eyes. “I have a car,” she walked over to the bowl by the door and dangled keys in front of his face.

            His eyes widened. “Why don’t you drive to school if you have a car?” he questioned.

            She shrugged. “Trying to reduce my carbon footprint. Now, do you want to go? It’s 50% off…isn’t that speaking to your gay side?” she teased.

            He laughed. “Not stereotypes, remember!” His face sobered. “Do you seriously want to go with me? I’ve been told that I’m desperate for someone to lo—hang out with me.” The sullen expression returned to his face, and Grace knew exactly why.

            “Don’t listen to those assholes. Fuck them. You’re special, Milligan. And the fact that you went to the house of a girl who you only met once at a dance for help shows it. You’re a good person who makes mistakes. But I would rather have a good person that makes mistakes and _realizes_ it than an all-around good person that thinks that she can do no harm.”

            He tilted his head, and a smirk appeared on his dark red lips. “You said ‘she’.”

            She held her hands up in surrender. “You said I wasn’t biased. I guess you were wrong. Now, come on. Let’s erase the day from your mind.”

\--

            “…holy shit, is that Milligan?” a voice whispered too loudly, and someone else shushed him.

            “Zip it, Novak. He had a tough day yesterday.” His eyelids fluttered. “Great, you woke him up.”

            “We are going to be late to Tai chi,” Zig whined (actually _whined_ for Pete’s sake). “Master is not going to be happy!”

            “So? We’ll take Milligan along. I’m sure he needs to unwind. Hey, Milligan? Get up before I get my water gun and destroy that nice hair color you love so much.” While she whispered the words, the deadly tone behind them made Tristan pop up, almost colliding skulls with Zig.

            Zig jumped back. “Whoa! Nice threads, Tristan,” he said, taking in Tristan’s appearance as he stood.

            Tristan opened and closed his eyes in rapid succession, trying to regain full motor skills. Then, he realized that this wasn’t a bizarre dream, and he was still at Grace’s house on her couch. He glanced up at her, confused.

            She smirked. “What, I wasn’t going to let you sleep on my bed.”

            He reached into his pocket and expected to see dozens of texts from his parents and friends asking where he was…only to find a text from his brother, and that Grace had changed his lock screen to a picture of him making out with someone in a Freaky’s t-shirt. He glanced down at his body and discovered that he wore an identical Freaky’s shirt and a pair of jeans that were cutting off the circulation in his thighs.

            “What the hell happened last night?” he asked, glaring at a laughing Zig.

            “I’ll tell you what absolutely did not happen. We didn’t go out to Freaky’s, and there was not a contest where you did not win best kisser—hence the picture. And we didn’t go out to Little Miss Steaks afterwards, and you did not see Money Bags’ best friend and his sister on a date. And you didn’t tell them to tell Miles to have fun with the—and I do not quote—same old, same old.”

            After a long stretch of silence, Zig spoke up. “That means you totally did.”

            Tristan waved his hand and snapped, “I know what that means, Novak!” he rubbed his head. “I wasn’t drunk or high, was I?” he asked.

            Grace snorted. “On confidence. I think that was the Real Tristan—that one I would actually be friends with.”

            Tristan flipped her off, and she, swear to God, actually smiled and laughed.

            Zig tossed a pair of sweatpants at Tristan. “Get dressed and fast.”

            “Where are we going?” Tristan asked as he glanced at his brother’s text and decided he would respond later.

            “Tai Chi.”

            “…is that code for something else?”

            “Yeah…awesome-ness.”

\--

            Grace turned off the engine and glanced back at the two boys in her backseat (yes, she made both of them sit in the back). “I’m going to get some Joe. What do you guys want?”

            “Tea, please,” Zig requested. Tristan glanced at him. “What?”

            “Ignore him. He’s scared that he doesn’t get enough antioxidants,” Grace rolled her eyes. “What do you want, Milligan?”

            “Black coffee with two sugars, please,” Tristan responded, fumbling for his wallet. “Here,” he handed Grace a credit card.

            Zig grabbed it, eyes wide in disbelief. “Where the hell—how? What?”

            Grace whistled lowly. “I could just leave right now with this bad boy, Milligan. Are you willing to take that risk?”

            “It’s from my parents. A guilt gift while they go through their divorce,” Tristan answered.

            Zig dropped the card like it was on fire. “Shit. I’m sorry, Tristan.”

            “That sucks,” Grace added, picking the card up. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something else, but closed it abruptly. “I’ll be back.” And she slammed the door behind her.

            It was silent for about two minutes before Zig turned to Tristan with a sorrowful expression on his face. “I heard what happened between you and Rich Boy. I’m sorry.” His condolences were awkward and clumsy, but they were sincere; Tristan appreciated that.

            “Thanks,” he replied. “I know this hurts you, too. Maya, I mean,” he cleared his throat. “You’ve been chasing after her, and she—“

            “I’ve given up on it,” he cut Tristan off. “Not on her, but the fact that I said I’d wait for her. It’s been almost two years since Cam—“ his voice cracked, and Tristan wanted to reach out and comfort the scared little boy in the muscle tank who loved Maya more than anyone in the universe. “I know it’s not happening, but it’s like every time I am _this_ close to giving up on her, she reaches out to me. And I feel that little bit of hope, you know? But it’s not going to happen, and I’ve accepted it.” He ducked his head. “And you don’t deserve it to be played with either.”

            “If Maya doesn’t see that you’re a good guy, that doesn’t change the fact. You have Tiny, Zoe, and Grace. I’m confident that you’ll find the right person for you. Just give it time.”

            “We all know what happens when you have confidence,” Zig remarked, and the tension in the cab broke as the two boys laughed.

\--

            Grace’s car stopped in front of the Milligan house. Reluctantly, Tristan climbed out and leaned back into the window Grace had rolled down. “This weekend has been amazing. Thanks,” he nodded at Zig and Grace.

            “No problem, Milligan. Just remember—if you tell my address to anyone else, I will pierce your ears in your sleep,” Grace said, slipping on a pair of shades as the sun appeared from behind the clouds.

            “She’s not kidding,” Zig warned.

            “Duly noted,” Tristan nodded. He sensed a lull in the conversation and turned back to his empty house. “I should get going. Bye,” he waved, unlocking the gate and walking up the stoned path.

            Her car honked, and he turned around. Grace stuck her head out of her window. “Hey, who says the weekend is over? It’s only 4 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon!” she smirked mischievously.

            Tristan couldn’t help but grin back.

\--

            Tristan turned Pandora on the TV and joined Grace and Zig on the floor as they catalogued everything Tristan bought last night.

            Zig examined a ripped vest. “I can’t see you wearing any of this, Tristan. Also, can I keep this?”

            Tristan laughed, snatching the vest back. “I actually liked this stuff back in Year 9, but we had uniforms, and I kind of wanted to keep this side of me hidden.”

            “Boo, you whore,” Grace added, folding up a pair of jeans neatly.

            Zig raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you so Betty Crocker?”

            “First of all, she cooked. Secondly, I’m not a pig like someone I know, Novak,” she playfully shoved him.

            He put a hand on his chest as if that hurt him. “Ouch.”

            Tristan tossed a long-sleeved shirt at Zig. “Here, Novak. Since you don’t have any in your collection,” he jabbed.

            “Ouch, Milligan got you there,” Grace said. Then, _Bad Blood_ came on the radio, and she covered her ears. “Eww, skip it.”

            “What, you hate T-Swift?” Tristan questioned.

            “She’s too…princess-y,” she replied.

            “This song isn’t that bad. Listen, it’s about getting revenge,” he turned the song up a few notches.

            Zig sat up. “Wait, does this song have the video with a bunch of hot, half-naked girls kicking ass?”

            Tristan rolled his eyes. “You would focus on that, wouldn’t you?”

            Grace’s eyes narrowed. “This hits home for you, Milligan,” she remarked.

            “It does?”

            “You and Money Bags.”

            The trio listened for a few more bars.

            “It does,” Zig admitted, dancing in his spot a little bit. Grace stared at him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s really catchy,” he defended himself.

            Tristan muted the song. “No, it doesn’t. I’m just trying to get through the rest of the year without seeing him.”

            “Isn’t he your chemistry partner…ironically?” Zig asked. Tristan nodded, shoulders slumping.

            “I’m surprised you know the concept of irony. But I’m serious.” Grace grabbed the remote and unmuted the song. “You said yourself that it is about getting revenge. Why should you take the breakup this way? You didn’t do anything wrong but try to be the perfect boyfriend. I mean, you failed, but you tried. And that’s a hell more than Money Bags did.”

            “A hell more,” Zig echoed.

            “I don’t need a hallelujah.”

            “Sorry.”

            “Whatever,” Tristan said as the song came to an end. “I’ll talk to the teacher and see if I can switch partners.”

            “…when you can do so much more by standing up for yourself,” Grace’s eyes narrowed. “I think instead of isolating yourself like that, you should just…get better.”

            “Get better?” Tristan echoed.

            “What’s with all of the echoing? Yes, I said get better. As in…live your life the way you want to and show him that you’re better off without him.”

            “Which it isn’t a lie,” Zig mumbled around a mouthful of Chinese food.

            Grace flipped him off. “Ignore the antioxidant boy. Listen to me.” Her eyes softened a fraction of a degree. “You are a very lonely person, Tristan. You hopped into that relationship before you and Money Bags were ready. You need to get better for yourself.”

            “I-I don’t know if I’m ready to get better,” Tristan admitted truthfully.

            “You started to last night when you showed me the Real Tristan. Admit it—you had fun last night.”

            “I did, but—“

            “And you felt at home, didn’t you?”

            “I did—“

            “Silence. You are going to school tomorrow, walk past Money Bags’ locker, and keep on going. No exceptions,” she added, seeing the terrified expression on his face.

            “Ooh, and you should do it wearing this,” Zig held up a t-shirt that read “Assholes are people, too” and a pair of jeans with rips in the thighs.

            “Not school appropriate,” Tristan snatched them back, blushing.

            “How about these?” Grace held up the same pair of jeans but exchanged the top for a plain black shirt and a red, faded vest.

            Tristan fell back. “Fine, but if I get sent home because of those jeans, I’m never talking to you again.”

            Grace scoffed. “Please. I’ve wore tank tops to school since forever, and they haven’t said anything. As long as you are wearing underwear, they don’t have anything to complain about.”

            “Gross,” Tristan wrinkled his nose. He picked up his carton of Chinese food and saluted them. “To…getting better.”

            “Getting better,” they echoed.

\--

            The next time Grace saw Tristan, she was walking with Maya to lunch, and Tristan was walking with his new chemistry partner. He waved, and she gave a two-fingered salute back.

            Maya glanced between the two. “You guys are friends?”

            “Sort of, maybe,” she replied and left it at that.

            “He looks good,” Maya admitted, consciously adjusting her backpack strap on her shoulder.

            “He does,” Grace agreed and changed the subject. “Come on, Matlin—if I miss lunch, I’m going to be so pissed at you.”

            Maya giggled and looped her arm through Grace’s. “All right, let’s go!” The two took off, but Grace dared a glance backwards and saw Tristan pass Money Bags at his locker. She almost laughed when she saw Money Bags’ jaw drop. Yeah, Tristan had this in the bag.

            Her phone beeped, and she slid it open.

            **Tristan.**

**We’re still on for Friday night? My treat!**

**Grace.**

**You’re on.**

She pocketed her phone and kept stepping. Life was good.

**Author's Note:**

> This is so meta--I just can't even. 
> 
> I based Tristan's "new" wardrobe on a few of Lyle's outifts. 
> 
> It's kind of weird that I tagged this as Triles when the relationship really doesn't appear in this fic. When I began to write this, I was going to pace it to where Miles apologizes. But no. It's going to take time to fix the damage Miles did, and I don't have time to write it out on my only free day this week (thanks school). But after school ends, I can write a sequel/follow up to this drabble if people want.
> 
> P.S. Although Champagne Supernova was shit, it brought me the headcannon that Grace and/or Zig took Tristan to their Tai Chi place.  
> P.P.S. I have no idea why I wrote this months after the breakup and the trash in Champagne Supernova. I guess I caught the bitter bug. :)  
> P.P.P.S. When in hell is Degrassi coming back?


End file.
